


Staff Meeting

by StoryCloud



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: AU, Exploration, Gen, Maybe - Freeform, if there's lotsa borises maybe there's an alice or two running around, rated for scariness maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryCloud/pseuds/StoryCloud
Summary: If there can be more than one Boris, why not another Alice or two? A little exploration. AU. (Henry doesn't need this.)





	Staff Meeting

When Alice came to, the first thing she comprehended was the intrusive smell of damp paper. Her gloved hands flew up in front of her, though her head was still lead-like and groggy.

What – happened? Slowly, clarity drew itself in, chasing away the darkness outlining her vision. Alice lowered her hands.

And stared.

Wh – what?

Oh yes. She recalled it now. She’d been wandering around this nightmarish place for hours, days, who knew how long. The vacant booths and offices offered no refuge. She barely remembered how she got here or how this came to be – and yet there was a nagging, creeping feeling that plagued her wherever she went.

Standing with a notable wobble in her legs, heels doing her _no_ favours, the little lady glanced at her surroundings. Then up.

A hole lay gaping and crumbling in the floorboards overhead – she’d fallen right through the upper hall. That would explain it...

The dim light in this office – a quick look around told her it was an office – was flickering in and out of being.

Shakily, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her horn, and ventured forward. Her footsteps echoed with an unsettlingly volume.

Kneading her lips in hesitation, she peaked out the half-open doorway into the next hall. Looked one way, then the next. Nothing.

It was empty, and yet every second was laced with some impending fear – that at any moment, something would jump out at her. The eerie cousin to ‘Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?’

Not watched per se – but searched for. While she looked for some answers, something was looking for her. She’d barely caught glimpses of it – but every time she even saw a shred of movement anywhere, she took off, disregarding the wobble her heels caused.

Not that she could part with them. Straighten down her dress out of habit, she continued on down the corridor.

Posters gawked back at her. Hmph. She disliked how she looked in some of them – she had no expression, just a neutral face. Next time, she remembered telling herself, she’d smile. Not look like she’d swallowed a lemon and tried to hide it...

Boris had taken it literally and offered her some soup.

A small giggle, despite it all, passed her lips. Oh, Boris. The clarinet-playing image was the only display that hadn’t been eaten by the moths.

... How she missed him.

An hour or so later of maddening quiet, she wondered if this was some kind of – what did Joey call it? Purgatory? That she was the only one that existed here. No Boris, No Bend –

A whistle punctured the silence so effectively, the little angel almost toppled. Akin to having your dress caught on a nail, a small bought of frustration sang through her body –

Then she realised, Alice, you dunce, _someone is whistling._

For a moment, hope floored her – she almost went towards it, she felt her ink-made body turn. Then her smarts caught up with her head. And that eerie, creeping feeling dragged itself up her spine.

Her hand came to hover over her lips. No – this isn’t good. She peered around, quickly – the sound was getting closer.

She took the first door, closing it as quietly as possible, trying to be deft with shaking fingers, and tip-toed towards the cabinets sitting in the corner.

Her foot landed on a squeaky floorboard, and she bit down hard on her lip.

The whistling stopped short. She can feel whoever it is – their attention zooming in on this little room. Panic bubbled. Oh, no, Alice, you _goose!_

She didn’t have time to get to the cupboards, so she edged behind the couch shoved in the corner; squished between the damp wall and musty leather. Pressing her palm over her mouth to quell the shiver in her breath, the toon waited.

....

Henry did not need this.

What he needed was some coffee, two scoops, actually ix-nay that – three. Double sugar. A tiny pinch of milk. Maybe a cat scan. That sounded delightful.

The ever-present stiffness that had started somewhere in his late forties in his lower back and travelled to his knees and elbows in recent years was increased tenfold in this position. He smelt damp wood, splinters and – the chronic reek of ink. You’d think a guy would adapt to the fumes, but, nope. It stained his trouser legs like tar; he looked ready to drop in on a funeral.

You may be wondering why an older man is jammed into a small cupboard in a rotting staff-room. _His_ rotting staff-room; he remembered it. It made his tongue tingle in memory, poked at his itch for a coffee.

Well, bub, he doesn’t know either. Adjusting his feet as much as he dared, Henry listened to the – nothingness. Not a sound. It was making his ears fuzzy. Good thing he hadn’t started going deaf yet, huh?

C’mon, what was left of his conscience chimed, you’re not _that_ old...

How long had he been hiding? Hours blended together down here. No sunlight, no windows, nothing. Just woodwork and walls. But he was beginning to think he’d been here for a long time.

Weird thing about hiding.

You almost miss the chase. Almost miss the danger, because after the relief dries up – and trust him, pal, it dries up quickly, heh – the waiting is unbearable. You don’t know if you’re safe. You don’t know if you can ever work up the nerve to creep out and carry on.

Then – there it was.

Aaand when the action does return you start pining for that silence.

It was a whistle. Merry, a bit tacky, with a swing and a repeat in the trill. He knew that tune, heck, he had it engrained into his arms’ muscle memory when sketching out poses. On and on it went – sometimes there’d be a pause...and then it would start up again. Oh well. Nice music. Broke the monotony, eh?

...

Urgh, those wooden panes over the doorways were _tougher_ than they looked.

A shadow passed along the wall; lurching, staggering, then gradually slowing down. A lean body, a bulbous head pricked with points like some kind of demonic fruit. It paused –

Then shrank down. A rather unsettling squelching sound, alongside a noise that could almost be referred to as an animation wheel being reversed, sounded through the empty hall.

Bendy adjusted his bow-tie, seemingly ignoring the fact that his face, and the white fabric, were splattered with ink; that it dripped slowly and steadily off his elbows. Sometimes being in that taller form did his back in.

Now. Onto finding _the stooge._

Whistling loudly through his teeth, he carried on, sauntering down the hall at a such slower pace; smile firmly plastered on his mug but his lidded eyes scanning every little nook and cranny like a search light. Hmm. S’not like he could jam himself into a mouse hole.

A creak.

Ooooh. Bendy halted, blinking slowly. Then his grin returned full throttle, creasing up the lines beneath his notched eyes. Ready or not.

Striding to the doorway at the right side of the hall, not even bothering to put a mocking skip in his step, Bendy grasped the rotting handle and threw it open.

The sound of the rotten wood striking the back of the wall was deafening. The silence that came after? Could be shattered by a pin.

Notched eyes slid left and right. Hmm. The old staff room. Could he get any more cliché? The bunkers were gathering dust; coffee cups lay sullen and abandoned. He knew the feeling...

Grinning mirthlessly, he waltzed in, taking his sweet time to look over the enclosed little area. He picked up a mug and ran his finger long the tip; streaking it with blank ink. Humming all the while.

Instead, though, his proverbial blood was rushing. He was sure he’d cornered him this time. So why not let him hang from a thread of hope for a sec, huh?

Very slowly, Bendy lowered the cup back onto the sink. Eying the cupboards below the counters – the other storage possibly big enough to hide a grown man.

“Hm-hm.” He rapped his knuckles against one of the doors, letting the sound ring oh-so-sweetly through the dismal room. “Anybody home?” He hissed at the woodwork.

Then – just at the very edge of his vision, in the corner of a notched eye, he saw movement. His horned head swivelled. Couch. Hm. Grin sliding back into place, he slowly began to advance. Droplets of ink slid off his arms, the edges of his form beginning to bubble in excitement.

Just spine elongated itself just a little as he grasped the armrest to yank it aside.

**_“GOTCHA.”_ **

But instead of an axe swinging at his face, a sharp gasp tore through the air and someone smaller than Henry, far smaller _now_ , toppled back into the corner. Sprawled out before him they raised their hands...

And Bendy lowered his, stumped.

It couldn’t be. But – but that old witch downstairs, she was... clarity hit him. Oh yeah. Copies. Alice had made so many – Lots of them Boris, a couple batches of Butcher Gangs. But never had she dared to duplicate _herself..._

“B...Bendy?” A soft, honey-like voice. He remembered it well. His grin slid back into existence, ink sliding down to smudge into his eye. A lot less mirth this time ‘round.

“Hey there, Sugar...” He drawled, his voice just a touch out of whack. Just a little distortion. Couldn’t get good reception these days...

Quivering, the toon lady scooted further back against the wall, hands clasped in front of her pretty little face. A shred of bitterness surged at how ... normal she appeared. Poor kid, when the real deal got her hands on her...

“Bendy – wha...what _happened?”_

She actually reached. Out to him. Smirking rather meanly, he delicately pinched her fingertip, stopping the gesture. The little toon jolted like she’d been tossed in cold water, lips forming a comically wobbly line.

“You don’t have any idea, do ya? Tut, tut...”

... It wasn’t Alice. The old Alice was gone.

... Though why let _her_ have all the fun? Good ink going to waste, right there ... and it would be nice to get a hold of the less _rotted stuff_...

The black liquid leaking down from the fingers keeping a soft but firm grip on the angel’s hand began to spread. Down her wrist, her elbow. She got wise fast, yanking on his arm – but didn’t get free. She wrenched herself back, hitting the wall. Horror dawned on her fast.

“B-Bendy, what’re you doing?” Her voice was just a squeak, “That hurts! Stop, stop – “

His other hand, lengthening into a claw, coiled around her waist and he hoisted the little angel off her feet; his body stretching and growing along with the action. His mind was going blank, the need to possess, to tear, attack, devour, was overtaking every little thought.

Wide, terrified eyes stared up at him; the angel pummelled fruitlessly at his hands with her free arm, aiming kicks that didn’t land.

The angel was hefted higher, closer, the ink burning against her dainty form. Her eyes were screwed shut as her flailing grew weaker. Bendy’s grin spread, savage and menacing –

A small hand clasped desperately at his crooked finger. “B-Bendy, _please...”_

Somewhere.

In the depths, the recess of his mind, something went cold. And he hesitated for just an itty bitty second and -

_SLI-C-E._

_Red hot pain._

Bendy let out a shriek that rang through the woodwork, shaking dust off the ceiling as the blunt steel swept right through his middle. He felt his form jolt like bath-water being hit by a toaster, and he collapsed onto the floor in a messy slam. Every ink drop making up his being had numbed.

A foot slammed down on his head, momentarily flattening it further into a puddle.

Henry heaved in a breath, one, two, then met the gaze of the horrified and bewildered Angel. Knelt in the ink and shell-shocked, she opened her mouth to speak –

But the old man simply seized her wrist and the two of them were hurtling to the doorway moments later.

All the while, Bendy’s mind was filled with nothing.

But angry -

Furious -

 _Shrieking._ The seconds passed like hours, every tug, stir and jolt of ink that happened after the attack took far too long – but slowly, steadily, he regained control of his body. Staggering a little, he threw himself at the office door and burst it open; the rotting wood finally snapping away from its hinges.

_“ **HENRY!”**_


End file.
